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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340048">I'll be the blood if you'll be the bones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereft_of_frogs/pseuds/bereft_of_frogs'>bereft_of_frogs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>let the human in (whumptober 2020) [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:22:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereft_of_frogs/pseuds/bereft_of_frogs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bleeding onto the sidewalk can be a bit of an inconvenient thing...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre &amp; Courfeyrac &amp; Enjolras (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>let the human in (whumptober 2020) [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll be the blood if you'll be the bones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for whumptober 2020, day 10: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed (blood loss, trail of blood)</p>
<p>warnings: well....blood</p>
<p>fic title: 'Wolves Without Teeth', Of Monsters and Men</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac gasps. “We have to stop.”</p>
<p>“We can’t,” he returns, not breaking his pace. “We must keep moving.”</p>
<p>“It’s barely a flesh wound,” Enjolras shoots back at him. He sounds as haughty and overconfident as ever, even as he leans heavily on their shoulders, and his hand trembles slightly where it is pressed to the wound in his side.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac stops in his tracks, making them stagger. “Even if you were not at risk of bleeding out, you’re leaving a trail of blood that will lead them straight to what is meant to be a <em>secret</em> meeting place.”</p>
<p>The other two glance behind them. Sure enough, at regular intervals on the dusty stone there are splashes of scarlet blood.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Enjolras says, sounding surprised.</p>
<p>“Quickly, in here.” Combeferre tugs them into a tight alley. He shoves Enjolras against the wall and forces him to sit. “Courfeyrac, keep watch.”</p>
<p>“Aye.” Courfeyrac obeys him immediately. Combeferre could get quite scary when he was like this. He moves with a smooth, direct urgency, tearing fabric away from the wound. It is jagged - had been more of a slice than a stab. Almost an accident. The young soldier holding the bayonet looked just as shocked as they had been. His eyes had gone wide as Enjolras stumbled back - luckily into Courfeyrac’s arms - with a curse. They were separated from the soldier by waves of people moving and shouting, and had decided it was best to retreat.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac glances back into the street. He can still hear the sounds of the skirmish, coming from far off, but the street is quiet still. It doesn’t look like anyone has followed them, at least not yet.</p>
<p>“I’d prefer to stitch this,” Combeferre says. “Or cauterize it…” Enjolras shoots him a serious look and they have one of their eerie silent conversations. “But luckily for you,” Combeferre continues at the conclusion of their telepathic discussion. “We don’t have time for either.” He takes off his cravat and wads it into a ball. Together with some of the tattered scraps from Enjolras’s ruined shirt, he packs the wound with fabric. Courfeyrac sacrifices his own cravat and jacket to the effort, and finally, the wound doesn’t leak blood. The stain is well hidden by the jacket.</p>
<p>“Can you stand?” Combeferre asks.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Enjolras says, with a clenched tight jaw and very pale face. He holds out a hand for Combeferre to help him to his feet.</p>
<p>The three of them stagger out of the alley. Enjolras starts to flag, leaning heavier on their shoulders. Hopefully they just look like two friends carrying their drunkard companion to anyone peering out their windows. It’s a little early for one to be this intoxicated, but it wasn’t out of the question. Courfeyrac had certainly seen some of their friends this far gone at far less appropriate house.</p>
<p>They finally make it through the quiet streets to the secret, rundown apartment they’d rented several weeks earlier, once they’d gotten word that their own residences had possibly been burned. The entrance is up a narrow back staircase. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had come to rent it. The landlady gave them a suspicious glance, declared that she didn’t care what went on here as long as the rent came in on time and she wasn’t bothered by any bothered wives or girlfriends. It was perfect, if a little dingy, and only sparsely furnished.</p>
<p>The moment the struggle through the door, Enjolras pulls out of their grips and collapses tiredly on the ratty chair.</p>
<p>“Excellent,” he breaths out a sigh of relief. “We can lay low here until things have died down out there. If you don’t mind, I think I am going to faint now.” True enough, he tilts his head back onto the back of the chair and passes out.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac is momentarily alarmed, but Combeferre doesn’t look too bothered, so it likely isn’t too serious.</p>
<p>“From shock, most likely,” he explains, at Courfeyrac’s confused expression. “It will make cleaning and stitching the wound easier, at least. Come, help me get water. We should also probably clean this place up a bit, it’s a mess…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is coming super late, because I was sort of on the fence about posting it all, because of how short it is, how vague the plot is, and because I wrote it fairly quickly and didn't have time to actually do the research necessary to see if I was being historically accurate with Combeferre's suggested treatment.  </p>
<p>Believe it or not, I have a Master's degree in 19th century history of medicine. I'm sorry. I wrote this at work went, 'oh shoot, how would they actually talk about shock' and then just never got around to looking it up. (I specialized a bit later in the century, and in public health, so I didn't have it right off the top of my head.) So, apologies, please do not hold this against my reputation. </p>
<p>But anyway, I continue to try and redeem myself for my 2013 Les Misérables fanfiction sins by writing canon era fic. Accept this offering. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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